


en pointe

by Bugggghead



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dom Jughead Jones, F/M, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Musician Jughead, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Sub Betty Cooper, a leotard is no match for a knife, and betty's learning to love it too, ballerina betty, like blink and you'll miss it light, wherein jug loves his switchblade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: Betty Cooper felt the cool metal glide against her shoulder, the dull edge pressing just enough to tell her it was there, the sharp side pointing out and glinting in the dim lamplight. She’d always had an affinity for tools, dull and sharp alike. So, she thought, it was only natural for her nipples to pucker and her core to ache as she watched the smooth edge of the blade slide over skin.Despite the pristine white leotard and matching tights adorning her body, despite the neatly smoothed bun and silken ribbons wrapped around her ankles, she always had liked things a little bit dirty. Betty was used to grease-stained hands when working under a hood, and she knew a bit about the value of using the proper tool. Even in bed, she'd been known to experiment lightly - typically with rope or cuffs or toys - but the metal of the blade seemed to be the right tool for this particular job.She hadn't expected the newest pianist for the production company, Jughead Jones, to have her laid out against the couch in her dressing room but she'd be lying if she said it was even remotely unwelcome.





	en pointe

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be two-ish chapters. Thanks, as always, to my incredible beta @jandjsalmon who makes my words worth reading. She's the best. Also thanks to @thenurseholliday for the brilliant title idea and @theheavycrown for helping with the graphic. The first chapter is light on the dom/sub and knifeplay - there's not _too_ much of it in here BUT chapter two will explore a bit more. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (if this type of fic - i.e. smut, knifeplay, explicit content - is not your thing, please, please DO NOT READ)
> 
>  
> 
>  

_ * _

 

_ Betty Cooper felt the cool metal glide against her shoulder, the dull edge pressing just enough to tell her it was there, the sharp side pointing out and glinting in the dim lamplight. She’d always had an affinity for tools, dull and sharp alike. So, she thought, it was only natural for her nipples to pucker and her core to ache as she watched the smooth edge of the blade slide over skin.  _

 

_ Despite the pristine white leotard and matching tights adorning her body, despite the neatly smoothed bun and silken ribbons wrapped around her ankles, she always had liked things a little bit dirty. Betty was used to grease-stained hands when working under a hood, and she knew a bit about the value of using the proper tool. Even in bed, she'd been known to experiment lightly - typically with rope or cuffs or toys - but the metal of the blade seemed to be the right tool for this particular job. _

 

_ She hadn't expected the newest pianist for the production company, Jughead Jones, to have her laid out against the couch in her dressing room but she'd be lying if she said it was even remotely unwelcome.  _

 

_ - _

 

Not too long before, after weeks of watching his nimble fingers stroke the keys all the while envisioning what they could do to other things, she'd held his gaze and tipped her head off stage. 

 

He seemed to get the signal. 

 

Her dressing room wasn't far, and any other day, it felt like a mere few feet down the hallway. But with visions of his gaze locked on her spinning form and memories of the dreams when she'd woken up soaked with fragments of blue eyes still dancing behind her lids, each step felt like a mile and each beat of her heart thrummed in her ears. 

 

He shut the door behind him carefully, the click of the lock echoing around the room. When she caught his eye in the mirror, the ice blue she had dreamed about was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a shade she’d never seen before - dark and deep and oh so inviting. 

 

She sat down on the scratchy couch, reaching to untie her slippers when he tsked his tongue. Looking up, she held her breath, trying to conjure the words she so badly wanted to say. 

 

_ I dream about you at night when I'm alone. You say my name against my skin like a prayer when you come. Please, please fuck me. I'm already soaked.  _

 

When she closed her eyes on stage, pressing the tips of her slippers against the hardwood, she'd imagined him right there with her. The tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as she twirled. In reality, it was her partner Kevin, the one whose tastes were far from feminine, but it hadn't stopped the scenario she played out in her fantasy. Jughead was holding her, gripping every inch he could, picking her up with ease. She was pliant under his imaginary touch, need building as his fingers thrummed the keys of the melody and her core throbbing in time with it all.

 

She blamed that fantasy for her current display. 

 

His boots clapped across the floor as he closed the distance, stopping just short of her knees and towering over her. This dance they'd been doing was much more dangerous than any she did on stage. This time there was no pretense of performance, she'd given him more of a show than she'd like to admit even with watchful eyes filling the room - teasing him, willing him to sense what she couldn’t quite vocalize. 

 

But they hadn't crossed that line, yet. 

 

Only at night with her hips rocking in her sheets and her fingers replaying the way she knew his to move had she indulged the idea that he may actually want her, too. 

 

He leaned against her knees and she let the pressure guide them apart. “I've seen the way you look at me, Jughead,” she breathed, a hand trailing down the length of her thigh, “and I think you want this, too.” 

 

“Betty,” he started, his chest rising with labored breath.

 

“Don't tell me I'm wrong.” It wasn't a question, or a command, just a simple fact and he seemed to agree as his Adam's apple dipped with a gulp. “It's okay,” she said softly reaching for the hand hanging by his side and pulling him down on the couch next to her.  “I want you, too.” She leaned over, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and smoothing her palms over his shoulders. 

 

He pulled back and a tendril of panic snaked up her spine as her eyes widened. But before she could ask, his grip was tight on her wrists and he was pushing her into the cushions with force, covering her body with his own. Through the thin layers of the leotard, she felt every inch of him curve around her. His jeans rubbed roughly against the wispy fabric of her tights and she dropped her knees to the side and lifted her hips to meet the friction. 

 

“Today wasn't even fair,” he growled, running his palm along the curve of her waist, splaying his fingertips across her ribs. “Were you trying to tease me?”

 

Was she? Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. 

 

But the single syllable, “No,” dropped from her lips as she felt him press into her again. Even through the thick material of his jeans, she could feel the ridge of him hard against her core. 

 

He pulled back slightly, leaning up on his knees and pulling her along with him. “Bend over.”

 

“What?” She knew she'd heard him correctly, but that dark part of her salacious desires that had never seen the light of day hummed to life, needing to hear it again.

 

“Bend over,” he repeated, shifting to sit as she stretched across his lap. His palm slid over the curve of her ass and she sucked in a breath. “Now we need to set ground rules, understood?”

 

The gentle glide of his palm juxtaposed with the rough texture of his growl and firm press of his erection against her stomach had Betty pushing her thighs together as she mumbled, “Yes.”

 

With a light tap to her ass that had her toes curling in the slippers she still hadn't shed, he said, “Try again and clearer this time. Understood?”

 

“Y-Yes,” she breathed, arousal coursing through every fiber of her being as she laid across his lap. 

 

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Good girl.”

 

That phrase, those two simple words had her head spinning when she felt his hands caress her ass again. “Rule number one - I am in charge. You don't move unless I tell you to. You don't come unless I tell you to and you listen to my instructions. Understood?”

 

Betty nodded her consent, another light tap on her ass making her gasp, “Yes,” as arousal pulsed through every inch of her body.

 

“Rule number two - No one knows about this.”

 

That was a given, inter-company relations were strictly forbidden and that simple rule had been the only reason it'd taken her this long to succumb to her own wants.  “Okay.”

 

“Last rule,” he started, hands still tracing lines against the curves of her body as he spoke. “The safe word is cherry. If it gets to be too much, say it. If you don’t, I’ll keep going.”

 

She couldn't help but giggle a tiny bit at that, the resulting sting against the cheek of her ass brought her back into obedience. “Yes, Sir,” she said with resolve, twisting her neck to watch the heat flash through his eyes.

 

“Fucking Christ,” he grumbled. “Are you a good girl, Betty? Or do you need to be punished?”

 

She gulped as she squirmed on his lap, panting, “I'll be good.”

 

“Good. Now lay back on the couch. Do you trust me?”

 

Even though she didn't really know him, something about the honest tone and its sharp contrast to the commanding texture he'd had just moments before had her nodding again. “I do.”

 

Jughead stood and toyed with his buckle as she laid back against the couch, head propped up at one end and knees pressed together. She watched as he pulled his belt open, popping the button on his jeans and palming himself as his eyes drug over every curve of her body. 

 

“Good girl.”

 

Betty could feel the heat of his gaze, pressing her thighs together as need pulsed through her. He stepped forward, sinking to his knees by her head and trailing a single finger down the line of her jaw. Trapping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he forced her to look him in the eyes. 

 

Slowly, so slowly she thought she might actually stop breathing, he leaned down to connect their lips. What started off as soft and tentative morphed into teeth and tongues within minutes. She carded her fingers through thick locks of jet-back as his palms cupped her face. They kissed and kissed, tongues sliding, breathes stolen between until he pressed his teeth into her lip and she whimpered. He did it again, a bit more forceful this time and she moaned into his mouth as her hands pulled away, tugging at her own straps. In an instant he pulled back, wrapping both hands around her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her core pulsed, the slickness in her panties surely soaking through the thin layers. 

 

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he tightened his grip. Another wave of want crashed over her as he said, “Remember rule number one. This is your one warning. Do it again and you'll be punished.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, eyes wide and head bobbing. 

 

“Do you like this leotard, Betty?”

 

“No,” she lied. It was actually one of her favorites, but she had plenty more and whatever he had in mind, she wanted so badly to comply. 

 

“What if I said I wanted to make an adjustment?”

 

With her teeth pressed so far into her bottom lip that she began to taste the coppery tang, she simply mumbled, “Please.”

 

“I'm going to let go of your hands now, but keep them right here.” She nodded again as he stood, captivated by his towering presence and drunk on her own desire. “Close your eyes.”

 

She did, pressing the lids shut as she heard the click of his belt against the floor and felt something slip from her hair. Then she felt him at her side again, wrapping the ribbon that’d been tied around her burn carefully around her wrists. “Is this okay?” he asked, the firmness of his tone gone for the briefest of seconds until she nodded. It returned again when he said, “Good girl,” tugging on the ribbon and making sure it was tight. 

 

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, the click of something sounded through the room as she gulped, squeezing her eyelids shut as far as they would go. 

 

Then a shock of arousal shot through every inch of her body, curling from her fingers to her toes when the dull metal pressed into her collarbone. “I prefer strapless.” And with that, she felt the fabric pull up and over the blade as he slid it along her skin, the sound of it slicing echoing against her ear. He did the same on the other side, the taut fabric falling slack as the straps separated. “Open your eyes,” he commanded, quickly followed by, “Better?”

 

She glanced from side to side, breathing, “Much.”

 

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked, the dull glide of the steel blade running along the curve of her side. 

 

“Yes, Sir,” she said without hesitation.

 

It was as though he was a doctor, meticulously sliding a blade against the flimsy fabric of her outfit and dragging it down her side. The press of cold steel against her sensitive flesh had Betty gasping until he reached her hip. With a final tug, the side split all the way open, one breast spilling from the confines of her spandex leotard. 

 

“Goddamn,” he breathed, reaching his free hand out to caress the swell of her breast. She moaned as she wiggled, nearly overwhelmed with need as he gently thumbed her nipple. 

 

“More, please,” she heard herself say, the words never even crossing her mind before slipping from her lips. 

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

 

He shifted her to sit up, gathering her bound hands in her lap and pressing her back against the couch. She felt as though she was being inspected, laid out and studied as his eyes skated over every dip and curve of her form. 

 

His free hand ran up the inside of her thigh, the knife in the other twisting as she watched. Hooking a finger inside the smooth fabric between her legs, he pulled out, bringing the knife under and barely tugging. 

 

It split with ease. The spandex fell to the side, only one more point of connection left and he peeled the fabric from her body before balling it in his fist and tossing it aside. Again, she watched his eyes darken as he stared. First, up at her eyes, his fingers tracing the translucent tights still covering her center. Then he tugged them down to her breasts, rising from his knees and gathering her own. He laid her back out on the couch carefully, her heartbeat thudding in her chest as he handled her with care. Her wrists were still bound, and the soothing notion that she didn't need to do a thing let her fall into her darkest desires.  

 

Betty had always been controlled  in every aspect of her life. It was almost certainly the byproduct of being raised with a mother who watched every little thing she did with careful precision. Being a ballerina came at a high price, some days she would jokingly call that price her sanity. But in all actuality, the price was the loss of any semblance of relaxation. With her wrists tied and his hands carefully laying her on the couch, she felt as though she could finally breathe. She could shut off her mind and simply be told what to do - and that turned her on more than anything ever had in her life. 

 

The brush of dull blade against her hip brought her back to the moment. “Still doing okay?” he asked and she smiled in response. 

 

One brow arched as he studied her, and she knew right away that he wanted a vocal response. “Yes.” 

 

He leaned down to brush their lips together. It was soft and short, a grounding presence that centered her again before she felt the drag of metal against her hip once more. A moan bubbled up in her chest. The leotard may have been snug, but the tights were practically painted on with the way they fit her curves. The knife pressed against plump skin, a dull sensation making the budding ache thump through her again. This time it wasn't the dull back with the blade against fabric. This time it was the smooth side gliding against flushed skin. 

 

The knowledge that any minute, any singular second that passed, he could twist it gently and catch the skin was making her head swim and her core throb. “Please,” she whispered. “More. I need more.”

 

Even with her eyes pressed shut, she could sense his warmth moving down. The blade slid along her skin, tracing from one hip to the other with slow precision. The dull side drug against flesh and she was practically panting when he reached her other hip. With a quick flick of his wrist, she felt the tension of the tights give way. 

 

He'd sliced the waistband by the time she opened her eyes again.

 

.

.

.

  
  


He had been dreaming of her for weeks, the way she spun on stage and swayed with the music. The first day he'd started, he'd ended the night with a hand in his pants and blonde hair on his mind. And it wasn't his fault. He blamed her entirely. Her and that fucking leotard that left so little to the imagination. The way it pressed into the curve of the ass his hand itched to grip. Too many times he'd let her distract him. Even the director seemed unphased as she spun and sunk in choreographed motions. But when he watched her up on stage with his arousal hidden only by the piano he sat behind, he couldn't control the way his mind wandered.

 

Sometimes he would shut his eyes, letting the vision of toned legs and supple curves guide his fingers along the keys. Sometimes he couldn't even look at her without losing his train of thought. Every so often, he'd think she was just as affected by him as he was by her. Because sometimes she’d falter during a rehearsal, gasping when her foot would slide the wrong way after she’d catch his gaze.

 

Sometimes he wished it would happen without prying eyes and people watching her every move. They all did it - watched her dance. It was only natural for the company to watch the Prima Ballerina but it still made his blood boil at the thought. He'd work himself into a frenzy imagining any other hands tracing the lean lines of her body as she gasped and groaned under their touch.

 

Sometimes the more depraved part of him would think about shredding that fucking leotard, slicing open her tights and leaving her bare before his eyes. Those times, when his want outweighed his rationale, he'd find a private place and relieve himself, thoughts of perfectly plump pink lips replacing his hand.

 

But based on the vision of prim and proper perfection she was up on the stage, his deranged desires to slice every inch of cloth from her body seemed off base.

 

At least until he had her alone, in her dressing room with the switchblade he'd had since high school weighing heavily in his palm. She had called him back here, preening when he'd praised her, and clenching when his palm met the firm curve of her ass. She was everything he'd ever imagined and more. She’d asked for more when he'd tried to go slow, bright eyes shining and lip pressed between pearly teeth. She was his perfect match in every way.

 

The only barrier remaining was the thin layer of tights wrapping around her legs and spread over her sex. He could see the sheen of her arousal through the flimsy fabric and groaned as he laid the knife on the floor. His knees ached from being on them for so long, a fact he might have even laughed at if he wasn't so fucking turned on by the blonde currently bending to his every whim. And fuck could she bend. He already knew that. She was a ballerina, after all, and he’d watched the spandex press against her ass as she raised her leg above her head gracefully too many times to count. God, he'd thought about this so many different times. He'd even imagined the way she would taste, a sweet tang ghosting his tongue when he'd wake up with ruined boxers and a rock hard cock. 

 

Even in his wildest dreams, in every dark fantasy he’d ever had, he had never imagined her to be quite as perfect as she was with his hands trailing down her ruined tights. 

 

His finger hooked into the ripped waist, tugging on the fabric until it split wide open. He pulled it down and watched as the fabric gave way to the sight of smooth, plush flesh. Her legs were practically etched with muscle, strong and lean and so sexy he couldn’t help but lean down to graze his other hand over the exposed areas. His finger kept tugging at the fabric past her knee, down to her ankle before it fell away. He moved back up to her waist, tugging another line across her core as the fabric split with ease. He repeated the motion down her other leg, tearing away the flimsy barrier until it laid crumpled beneath her. With deft fingers, he unwrapped the ribbon on her slippers, sliding them off one by one until she was bare save for a soaked scrap of fabric covering her folds.

 

The tips of his fingers dragged up along her side, sliding against the smooth skin as her breaths came out spotty. He reached for the knife once more, gripping it as he stood over her. 

 

The cloth covering her sex was taunting him, glistening in the dim light and nearly pulsing with her arousal. He dropped a knee between hers, one foot still on the ground as he reached for the band of her simple cotton panties. His fingers traced the line of the fabric, so lost in his own reverie that he almost missed the, “Please,” that spilled from her swollen lips.

 

He’d done this before, played with a knife in the most salacious scenarios, but never quite like this. Never with wanton whines making his cock twitch and a girl he’d dreamed about touching writhing beneath his fingertips. 

 

He pressed the side of the metal against her swollen clit through the fabric, relishing in the hiss that she breathed in response. Twisting the blade so the dull edge fit between her folds, he pressed again, the tip suspended near her waistband and his hand perfectly still. Catching the fabric under the sharp edge, he pulled it away from her skin, listening to the sharp rip from the torn fabric. Sliding it to the other side, he hooked the fabric over her other hip and snapped it with the blade.  

 

Her hips arched off the cushions and he dropped the knife, afraid he’d knicked the flesh somewhere. But when he examined her, there were no dots of crimson marring the skin. He tsked his tongue. “What did I tell you about moving, Betty?”

 

The intensity of his tone must’ve surprised even her, his hands gripping her hips and pinning them back down to the couch. 

 

“I - I - I’m sorry, Juggie,” she sputtered.

 

“Come here.”

 

He sat back on the couch, pulling her on top this time, but when she moved to lay across his lap, he pulled a leg over his hip. Her core was radiating heat against the thin fabric of his boxers, totally bare and dripping wet as she hovered over him. Her hands were still tied in front of her, hanging limp with ribbon wrapped around her wrists. 

 

Leaning down, he retrieved the knife again, slipping it between her wrists and flicking it until the shiny ribbon tumbled between them in pieces. Her eyes were wide, a plush lip trapped between her teeth and her chest heaving. 

 

In that moment, with his hands sliding around to cup her ass and pull her forward, he thought he’d never seen a sight so beautiful. He felt himself twitch against her pulsing core, crashing their lips together as his fingers dug into the curve just above her thigh. Fingers combed through his hair, gripping and tugging when he slid his tongue into her mouth. A sharp crack echoed in the small space of her dressing room as his hand met flesh and she moaned into his mouth. 

 

All at once he gripped her thighs, pressing her down and arching up to meet the heat that was making him dizzy with need. She moaned again, this time louder and he felt it reverberate through his chest, making his blood boil. 

 

“Fuck,” he swore against her lips, panting from the friction of her pressing against his straining cock. 

 

She returned it with a pretty promise, a word that made him press against her throbbing heat with purpose. 

 

“Please.”

 

With his fingers digging into the bone of her hip, he lifted her off and pushed down his now soaked boxers, reaching his thighs before giving in to the need that was consuming his every thought. 

 

“Can I?” she asked, voice soft and tentative as her fingers scraped the skin under the hem of his shirt.

 

He didn’t give her chance, pulling it up and over his own head before trapping her wrists together again. He guided them up, over his head and behind his shoulders so her forearms rested on either side of his neck. He lifted her slightly, reaching for the foil packet he kept in his wallet. 

 

Betty rolled it down over him with careful movements, wrapping her hand around the base at the end and positioning him at her entrance. She looked up at him, half-lidded eyes darkened with lust and he nodded, giving her permission to grant them both relief. 

 

“Stay like that.” 

 

Then his hands were gliding back down the dips of her sides and gripping her hips again, dragging her against his length until her lips fell to either side. He moved her against him, rocking his hips in time with her gasps and teetering on nirvana from the sensation alone. He wouldn’t last, he knew that much, so he wanted to make sure she was right there with him. Trailing a hand over her hip, he pressed his thumb against her swollen nub. The resulting moan sent shivers up his spine. 

 

Despite his guise of control, he’d done this enough times to know his partner truly held the power. As much as her consent gave him permission, it also told him she wanted to keep playing, she trusted him to instruct her and that alone made his cock twitch inside of her. If he was really being honest with himself, he knew some armchair doctor would say his need for control stemmed from a lifetime lacking just that, but it wasn't the time for introspection, and no amount of rationale could quell his desire for it. 

 

Overall, and in comparison, it was fairly light play with her. Being the first time, he didn’t want to push too far, but the thought of exploring further, of properly tying her up and having his way with her somewhere other than the dingy couch in her dressing room had him yearning for more. 

 

He snapped his hips into hers, a rough slap of skin mixing with her breathy moan. “Does that feel good, baby?” he growled against her collarbone, nipping at the flesh until he felt it bruise beneath his lips.

 

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, rising and falling on his rock hard cock and gripping his shoulders with force.

 

“Use your nails,” he instructed, feeling the bite as soon as he asked. “Good girl.”

 

She picked up the pace as he trailed kisses down her chest, sucking on the supple flesh and trapping her nipple between his teeth. He bit down gently at first and felt her clench in response, then again with more force as she pressed her nails until he felt heat trickling from the source. 

 

Jughead knew many people wouldn’t understand his need to mix pleasure with pain, but the way Betty was riding him with reckless abandon, her arousal dripping down his length told him she might just like it, too. 

 

His hand came up to tweak her other nipple, his teeth grinding against the one still trapped and he felt her walls spasm, clenching hard as she reached her high. The warm, wet sensation of blood trickling down his back and the endorphins swimming in his brain had him cresting right after, his forehead leaning against her collarbone as she slowed to a stop. 

 

“I’ve never-” she panted, hot breath fanning his ear and her walls still fluttering around him. “Ohmigod, you’re bleeding.”

 

She was staring at her hands over his shoulder and he leaned back to bring them between their bodies still slick with sweat. “I’m so sorry, Juggie.”

 

“Don’t be,” he said simply, the undercurrent of authority still coloring his words. “I mean it. I - I like that.”

 

She looked up at him then, eyes swimming with uncertainty before looking back to his blood beneath her nails. 

 

“I think I do, too,” she whispered.

 

With her knees still on either side of his hips, and his arousal still pulsing inside of her, he reached up, skimming his palms along the bruises on her neck before cupping her cheeks. When he pulled her forward, she fell to him easily, lips slotting together in a soft kiss. 

 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he mumbled against her lips, connecting them again in a slow, languid kiss. 

 

It was the opposite of what they’d just done, taking their time to explore every inch of each other’s mouth and gentle hands holding on wherever they could grasp. The kiss could’ve lasted minutes or hours for all he knew, the push and pull of their bodies swaying with a natural rhythm. 

  
  


*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @bugggghead
> 
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated (I apologize in advance for being woefully behind on replies but I love them all so much!)


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